Leonardo Aguilar II: I know I posted this hombre before, but I couldn’t resist posting more. Little Leo will be effortlessly bi-lingual. His Dad reads to him in Spanish, and his Mom (our granddaughter, Jamie) in English. Maybe I can pick up a word or two of Spanish from our youngest great-grandson!

More Little Leo, in Great-Grammy’s Shawl: I made this garment for a Teddy Bear, and then thought “Hey. It would look even better on Leonardo II!” He’s smiling as if he likes his colorful snuggy.

A Backyard Retreat: My friend Karen is a Master-Gardener, and she has the greenest thumbs (and fingers) of anyone I’ve ever known. Here are some photos she took of her beautiful sanctuary in Waukesha. Karen laid yards of winding brick pathway for an enchanting, rustic touch. Along with the gorgeous gardens to grace her neighborhood, Karen has a Little Library where anyone passing by can exchange books. How great is that!

A Memorable Outing: My friend Liz (pictured below) treated me to a day of antiquing, etc. just across our border—in Richmond, Illinois and the surrounding area. The day was just right: perfect weather, delightful browsing, good food, fun acquisitions, and best of all great company!

A Time to Be Silly: Our daughter Debbie took some of her grandchildren (our great-grandchildren—DUH!) on a surprise train ride and a vacation at a Wisconsin Dells water-park resort. The Amtrak speeds by our road every day at approximately 4:20 p. m. So on the day Deb was taking the children to the Dells Joe and I walked a few yards from our door, and waited at our road beside the Fire Station, so we could wave at the children as the train roared by.

Frequently I cannot resist being utterly silly where my children (of all ages!) are involved, so I had to do what I call a “Do Do Dee Dee Dance” with my derriere aimed at the passing train windows while Joe looked on very sedately from his 4-wheeler. (Joe doesn’t do Do Do Dee Dee Dances.) Meanwhile Debbie caught a blurry, impressionistic shot of the vaudeville act.

And Our Private Heaven: That long cold winter has morphed into luscious spring. A month ago it looked like nothing was going to happen. But now . . . ! The treasures in our patio garden are better than ever (I say that every year), and our patio is the perfect outdoor living room—with sun in the morning and shade for hot afternoons.

And SKY: Those of you who have checked this site on occasion over the last five years know that I have a thing about sky. As a child, I spent countless afternoons lying on the grass, watching clouds while searching for dragons, genies, and horses in the sky.

Now I recline on the berm outside our condo courtyard and watch clouds, with Baby Dylan (corgi) at my side. That is our warmish day agenda. On steaming summer days I flop on the patio lounge for afternoons of reading and cloud gazing, with ice tea ever handy.

Never has cloud gazing been more rewarding than it is here in the Lake Country, with the open expanse of park beyond our door. We are surrounded by lakes, so there are nearly always clouds—ever changing, ever exciting to view. I have years of cloud photos, enough to create a picture book. (That’s a great idea, for next winter!)

In closing, here is a confession of something that I never thought would happen. (Daughter Laura, are you ready for this?) My man is planning to get me a TABLET. Yes, family, I’m finally taking the plunge. Ever since tablets surfaced, I’ve said “No, I don’t want one”—and I meant it, at least I think I did. But recently something snapped. Now I look forward to having my very own tablet.

People with tablets appear to have thousands of pictures. (Hyperbole intended, but perhaps it’s not hyperbole.) Is this writer turning into an ex-writer, perhaps a “recovering” writer? Maybe a picture is worth a thousand words. 🙂 Well, we’ll see about that.

My philosophical mother left me with many quotes on which to ponder, one of them being:“It takes all kinds of people to make a world.”

That certainly is a fact, as each of us was created to be unique. Each of us is an original piece of art. Although we may have similarities we were not intended to be prints or reproductions of another human.

I try to understand other people whose style and preferences differ from mine, and it’s just plain fun to discover whom people are and what “makes them tick”. Perhaps the best way to get acquainted with another person is by visiting in that individual’s home. I want to believe that most people who spend considerable time in their homes have some pastime they love, some kind of a life within their walls. This life may be reflected via the books on the shelves, the cookbooks and appliances in the kitchen, baskets and tables overloaded with crafting supplies, the presence of houseplants indoors and gardens outside the windows, a dog or cat (or both), and of course a musical instrument—perhaps more than one. The presence of art on the walls and family photos on shelves and tables says a lot—if indeed the walls, shelves, and tables are laden with pictures which are worth a thousand words.

But occasionally when visiting a home I draw the proverbial blank. No books, no projects, no art to reveal a period or style of interest, no messes, no pets, no plants beyond the “tastefully correct” one or two—potted in matching, stylized planters rather than those ice cream buckets and COOL WHIP® containers which frequently hold my overflow of greenery. Not even a happily messy computer corner! Sadly, only one piece of equipment normally characterizes the apparently wasteland homes: that ubiquitous television.

Quite possibly, the homes which appear sterile, sans personality, may not actually be like that at all. When one is a guest, one seldom sees all the nooks and crannies. In the most generic of furniture store homes, there are apt to be hidden away places where the residents read, craft, make music, or whatever. As interested as I am in people and their lifestyles, I certainly don’t want to be crass and ask to see their hidden recesses—the NO ENTRY zones of a house. So I give my host or hostess that benign benefit of the doubt. Certainly they have some life passion, some activity that causes them to jump out of bed each day and say “HELLO, WORLD!” Probably my host and hostess simply have chosen not to divulge exactly whom they are and what they are about.

I accept the preference for anonymity, and I understand that I may be the odd one in today’s world. I LOVE to share. I love to be transparent—an open 1000 page book with loads of information on every page. As much as I love to know, I love to be known. And as far as I know, that’s the way life was originally intended to be! Unlike that pair in the Garden after the fall, I have absolutely no desire to hide from God or anyone else!

Meanwhile, since Joe and I have moved into a four room condo it is easier than ever for visitors to ascertain what we are all about. Our interests pervade every corner of our home, for all to see and enjoy. We have never had more of ourselves on our walls, tables, shelves, and floors—and we are delighted beyond expression with the overflowing abundance of our current time of life. Crowded, YES! Even CLUTTERED—although to me “clutter” bespeaks random chaos, and I will have none of that.

Tidiness and order rule the day, and we can always stuff one more meaningful object into the order of our home. Minimalist gurus (who for some odd reason find no significance in memories manifested all around them, no joy in the colors and textures of a life well-lived) will call us “hoarders”. I call us “LOVERS OF LIFE”! Thus the spinning wheels (which really spin beautiful yarn from luxuriously fleeced sheep’s wool) lurk behind a favorite easy chair, accompanied by baskets of wool and more baskets of yarn—plus needles and other accoutrements of knitting.

My piano hosts an assortment of music books—and musical scores printed out and taped together so that I can play without turning pages. Our kitchen contains the necessaries—toaster, coffee pot, blender, crockpot—plus a representation of bygone eras in funky kitchen collectibles. Our dining area buffet serves as a display area for my soap industry—while hundreds more soaps are stacked in drawers and stored in huge plastic bins under furniture and in closets.

Our bedroom is also my art studio, with a messy table for acrylics, collaging, etc., and another table for watercoloring. Crammed into a bedroom corner is my writing studio with my very own laptop, printer/scanner, and voluminous files (I will always love paper).

My husband’s den is his bit of Heaven on earth with the TV, his own computer/printer/scanner, filing cabinet, posh reclining chair (suitable for snoozing on), and even a daybed for that occasional afternoon “lie down”. Joe keeps his clothes in a dresser and closet in his den, while our enormous bedroom closet houses my clothing plus bins and shelves laden with more soap and somewhere between 600 and 800 paintings. I tell our children they’ll have a post-humous fortune on their hands some day. (Obviously, I’m joking! My art is amateur stuff, paying dividends of endless and infinite fun!)

Both living room and bedroom have indoor garden areas—with tropicals in the east facing patio door, and succulents in our south facing bedroom window. And everywhere are BOOKS, BOOKS, BOOKS. Shelves groan with books, tables support the weight of them, and floors feature book towers in every room.

All of that—including a zest for collecting with a partiality for Victorian era art glass produced by our great American 19th century glass companies, English china, and most anything vintage and funky—goes a long way toward telling our guests whom we are, in this happiest of homes which I’m inviting you to tour with me today!

The above play area is a magnet for our great-grandchildren (16 children, ages 10 and under) who visit whenever they can. And my happy little kitchen beyond. (Actually, it’s Joe’s kitchen for the duration of my post-surgical, arm-in-sling adventure.)

My fiber studio resides behind a living room easy chair. The spinning wheels are not for “show” (although they are very beautiful, made from cherry wood). The spinning wheels spin, and produce luxury yarns for sweaters, scarves, and hats. Years ago, Joe made the pine dry sink for me. It houses my collection of English flow blue china and my Grandma Kate’s English (Aesthetic Period—circa 1885) Indus wedding dishes featuring graceful birds and foliage reminiscent of the British Empire in India.

Most of the baskets in our home are homemade. The one with the coral insert is an Irish potato basket, and below it with gorgeous ultra-marine blue/violet fleece inside is an egg basket—both crafted by moi. The larger basket, in the style of Wisconsin Native Americans’ basketry, was woven by our daughter-in-law, Cheri Been.

One of the many perks in our condo home is the fact that Joe and I each have our very own bathroom. What fun is that! Joe’s is the larger of the two, and it contains a shower which he loves. (I HATE showers, probably because they remind me of that most detested of all scenarios—high school gym class!) I have a tiny bathroom, but it contains a TUB (one of the great loves of my life).

I painted the blotchies on the upper walls, and our grandson, Tyler Been, painted the gorgeous New Mexico-ish red lower walls. This is my Louis L’Amour bathroom—replete with cowboy pictures, and photos of family members on horseback. As you can see on the above left, I have hung some of my own Southwestern art here as well.

Here is another shot of my sweet loo. The Civil War era folding chair is a family heirloom, with needlepoint painstakingly stitched by my mother many decades ago. I treasure the no-longer-available glass ARIZONA TEA® bottles, plus my collections of all things horsey and Western. (The oil painting on the left is not mine. It was a rummage sale prize, unearthed a few years ago.)

The messy inner sanctum of my studio is open to all who venture here, since we always have our company put their wraps on our bed. That’s an old fashioned thing to do, perhaps dating back to when closets were not so prevalent as they are today. To me, wraps on the bed are the most gracious way to go.

No home photo shoot would be complete without a glimpse of my soap. I brag about my soap way too much. It’s excellent, and we have used nothing but my home made soap since 1976. Today my soap is far removed from that crude stuff the pioneers made over an open fire, using fat drippings from their slaughters and kitchen grease cans.

I use the finest vegetable oils (olive being the Lamborghini of oils!) and pure, rendered tallow—all of which I purchase online from COLUMBUS FOODS in Chicago. High grade cosmetic pigments go into the soap for color, plus quality fragrance oils. I have online sources for these ingredients, as well. Soap making is an expensive hobby, well worth ever drop of cash and elbow grease involved! And we saponifiers always have a beautiful gift to offer our family members and friends—the gift of the finest soap.

Old painted furniture, dried hydrangeas, British India style shelves, platters and bowls which don’t fit in cupboards and thus are relegated to the floor, family photos, sparkling glassware including Vaseline glass with glass fruit, cookbooks, a teapot and cups and saucers (just a few of a plethora about the home), and a toy bear (also one of many) co-exist in happy harmony.

Now if you happen to be thinking, “This is really weird!” just remember: “It takes all kinds of people to make a world!”

A week after surgery I still wear that pained expression, but Baby Dylan looks great. Normally terrified of the Paparazzi, Dylan was captured off guard because he didn’t realize that a camera could lurk inside a cell phone. His “Mommy” is not that advanced, as blogging is the outside extent of my techie-ness. To me, a phone is a phone and a camera is a camera. I’m certain this will be the last time we’ll be able to fool Dylan into saying “Cheese”!

Since inserting pictures is easier for me at this point than keyboarding a lot of text, here are some recent ones taken just before my surgery. The pictures are worth thousands of words—of which I’ll add just a few for clarification:

Any of you parents, grandparents, and great grandparents have undoubtedly had at least one “Flat” in your life. Above you can see our third—“Flat Ethan”, a facsimile of Three Dimensional Ethan who lives far away in San Diego. Flat Ethan was not prepared for the quiet life Joe and I enjoy in Nashotah, Wisconsin (who ever heard of THAT?)—but he coped beautifully whether buying produce, eating at our neighborhood Chinese restaurant, or simply perusing books while Joe, Dylan, and I slept. (Since Three Dimensional Ethan loves books, it follows that Flat Ethan does likewise.)

Baby Adetokunba Bridget Josephine Adesokun at three weeks old. (Now she’s nearly six weeks.) Due to a stand off with MRSA and surgery, this was one of the last times I was able to hold Tuks—(rhymes with books). But better days are coming, soon!

Left to right: Joe, and our Denver grandsons Joel and Nathaniel Been with two of my paintings (framed in yellow) currently on exhibit at the Delafield Arts Center.

With all my present restrictions, a few activities are allowed and encouraged: knitting (only finger motion is required of my right hand when knitting), limited piano practice (again, fingers only in the treble clef), some keyboarding, and left handed art. The art delights my heart as more each year I’m realizing that abstraction (with a slight element of representation) is my forté—the “Whom I Really Am” in this recently discovered passion.

A large factor in abstract expressionism is the discarding of presumptions, assumptions, and that human desire for “control”. What remains? A serendipitous freedom from agendas or any kind of “other generated” expectations. This freedom is possible only in the arts! We certainly wouldn’t want it anywhere else—that would be anarchy!!!

I’m a year ’round lover of life, but the months from now through September tip the scale for me. The above photo (titled “Home of the Foxy Gentleman” after the guy seated amongst the foxgloves, who fooled that stupid Jemina Puddleduck into letting him supervise her nest) shows one of many reasons why I love the seasons at hand. Some other reasons are: a deep tan on my body, soft breezes soughing, long days, short nights, and ice cream. Of course ice cream can be had in all seasons, but it’s a lot more fun when it’s consumed outdoors! (My opinion.)

Another BIG REASON for the tipped scale from now through Autumn is that Joe and I are now (a bit tardily this year) entering the RUMMAGE SEASON. I think I hear clucking, snorting, and sneering from the crowd who believes that “downsizing” (HOW I DETEST THAT WORD!!!) is some kind of a spiritual exercise designated to win extra points. Some can “downsize” graciously, and for valid reasons—while others say the word while rolling their eyes and aiming sanctimonius glances at Yours Truly! Those “downsizers” are certain that I’m not in line for any points at all! And I’m certain these misguided folks are missing out on the fun!!! 🙂

Having recently moved from a house (actually 2 houses) up north to a four-room condo Down Under (under Highway 10, not the Equator) Joe and I have found even more incentive to go rummaging. We have MORE TIME without grass to mow, snow to blow, and garbage to escort to the town dump. Bring on the YARD SALE signs and we are off and running.

So at the expense of clucks, snorts, and sneers (which fortunately I can’t really hear because I’m blogging on a computer not a phone) here is a picture of today’s bounty culled from a nearby small city—namely Waukesha, Wisconsin:

Oh my! A clump of birch trees which we’ll never need to water; a charming, mint condition McCoy pottery planter (“the real McCoy”, not one of those knock-offs); 6 ruby red Depression Glass mugs and 7 matching lunch plates with a measuring cup like those my Mother had; 2 pairs of sweet, girly toddler boots which should fit our great-granddaughter Mia next winter; a (tipped on its side) pewter covered bowl and 2 more ruby red mugs in front of the boots; a copper plated teakettle; a gorgeous orchid plant which—like the birch clump—I will never need to water; all flanked by a humungous acrylic painting (very beautiful!) supporting a vintage necklace with fake diamonds and pearls. (At least I’m assuming the gems are fake. Wow, if they are not!)

Behind the Yard Sale bounty is always the best part of the season—our live garden. You are looking at creeping phlox, mertensia, and other treasures among the ubiquitous mint which will always assure me of having something green to look at. From now through Autumn, that is.

Remember, we can’t take any of this with us! That’s why we’re enjoying it now!!! 🙂

At a recent social occasion, a young friend shared that she simply can’t stand the word “beige”. She said it’s so “You know, beige!” I agreed that “beige” is indeed a boring, generic word when one could qualify with something more colorful like “pale nutmeg”, “1/2 whole wheat,” or “overcooked chicken thigh”.

Anyway, I got to musing about words that I “can’t stand” (I say that instead of “hate” which my parents taught me never to say except when referring to major issues like war, disease, race discrimination, etc). I came up with two words, and both of them begin with a preposition: “update” and “downsize”.

To me “update” is an unimaginative, harshly pedestrian word smacking of anything that would threaten to ratchet me from the 19th and 20th centuries where I felt at home, to the 21st where I live—although that hasn’t yet made a dent in me and I hope it never will! And I knee-jerk even more, over that intimidating verb—“downsize”!

Of course some downsizing is essential when it means moving from a large home to a smaller one (we’ve done that three times in thirty-two years—paring a bit here and there without diminishing our penchant for acquiring antiques and junk). Lack of space is a valid reason to delete some of one’s stuff, to make more space for collecting at the other end! Also, it makes sense to give our children and grandchildren some family heirlooms and perhaps some silver, china, or crystal—so we can see them enjoying these items before we depart.

Obviously, when “things” or “clutter” become disorganized in a home—or when they prove burdensome and inordinately time consuming—then it’s good to take drastic action. Also, we need to run an inventory if things are overly important in our lives. We are never to idolize stuff!

While appreciating these disclaimers, I pray Joe and I will never need to change our modus operandi! I’ll continue to shout from the highest rooftop and scream from the highest mountain, “Bring on the stuff”. You can downsize me when you lower me into my grave, because by then I’ll have left this earth for the best Home of all! 🙂

The currently popular fad of downsizing may be partly due to that horrible contemporary lack of commodious attics in which to stash the extra detritus of bygone years. What a loss to the human race and quality of living—although heating Victorian houses might not appeal to many of us.

But I think the contemporary downsizing syndrome implies more than the lack of an attic. Some late 20th century sterility has crept into the American pop mentality. And by now, nearly thirteen years after the turn of the century (which to me will always mean from 1899 to 1900) our culture has degenerated full-throttle into the crazed concept that everything has to: 1) move fast, 2) be bio-degradable, and 3) be “easy” to maintain.

Those souls who simplycannot live with dust, rust, stains, or tatter, will definitely choose advancing into the 21st century—perhaps in tandem with some who can’t sit still or walk slowly, but rather need to be metaphorically catapulting from coast to coast with a brief lay-over in Minneapolis or Chicago.

Fortunately, however, there are others who will always resist the latest trend. We are those intrepid and dauntless anachronisms—suspended in time, while happily preserving the artifacts of other eras. We anachronisms don’t care two hoots when our stuff gets dusty—although, because I enjoy the process, I actually dust (most) everything twice (or maybe three times) per year whether I need to or not!

I love rust, the stains of antiquity (barring spilled food and dog messes), and tatters. I do draw the line at mold, but only because I have a chronic sinus infection and asthma.

So while some may say (often a bit sanctimoniously, as if there were a “spiritual” aspect to downsizing) “I don’t do antiques shops and garage sales anymore”, my husband and I still hit them frequently whatever the season—antiques shops in winter and garage sales in summer. (Remember, we live in Wisconsin. That should explain the seasonal element.)

When we lived up north a woman came into our home, looked around, and made a classically caustic comment (get that alliteration—it’s the poet in me). She said, “How can you do this to your children?”

Well, at least one granddaughter is very glad we are “doing this”! Once again on this blog I quote our brilliant granddaughter, Alicia, who maintains: “I know I can’t take anything with me. That’s why I’m enjoying it all now!”

Above you will see a view in our current home which is much smaller than past digs, yet equally packed with fun and funky stuff—along with whatever heirlooms, china, silver, and crystal we haven’t yet given away.

When it comes to plain old wonderful junk, and of course home grown art, the population is ever-increasing! Our gardens and walls will vouch for that! We are always “upsizing”! I didn’t say “upscaling”—that would be stressful and no fun at all. Just upsizing!

Our rooms may diminish in numbers, but never in that overflowing variety of ambience loved by that unique breed of folks known as collectors!

We don’t have to travel far to experience the glory of autumn in Wisconsin—just a few feet from our front door. ↑ This gorgeous tree creates a stained glass effect when the morning sun beams through the high window over our front door.

I’ll never tire of watching clouds. ↑ How blessed we are to have (also just outside our front door) a panorama of sky over a grassy field bordered by wild woods.

My gardens are still thriving, and it’s October! ↑ Amazing after our brutally hot, dry summer. Perhaps this is the fruit of diligently lugging “grey water” (leftover from dish washing and hand washing of clothes) to the gardens so that I wouldn’t over-use our building’s water supply and risk depleting the well which we share with seven other condos.

Moving indoors, you can see that the “cottage industry” of soap making continues around the year. ↑

And art making, as well. ↑

Recently, Great-Grandson James came for an art day. ↑ James is just six years old, and he’s a little prince. After creating four paintings, he said, “My arm is tired”.

That was my signal to take him to the park (just outside our front door). I pushed him on the tire swing. James paused in the middle of a swing, looked very concerned, and asked me: “Are you too old to be doing this?”

I assured him that I could handle swinging him. Then we passed and caught his little Packer football. James showed me how to place my hand under the stitching when passing the ball. I never knew that. But it’s not surprising, since I carried a violin throughout my youth—not a football!

Later James told his Dad, “Grandma caught nearly every pass I threw!” Was I ever puffed up after that!

So you can see why I’m a bit behind on blogging! There is so much life, beyond a computer screen! 🙂

The snapdragons are still blooming gloriously! ↓ They have won my “Most Faithful Flower” award! They bloom from April until the first deep frost!

All the arguments against Creationism prove ridiculous and fall apart, when we focus on the basic tenet of our Judeo-Christian Worldview: that we humans are made in the image of God, a Creative God!

Yes, the higher mammals have intelligence. Yes, the higher mammals have forms of communication. Yes, the higher mammals are capable of great emotion—even that of unconditional love. I gaze into my Pembroke Welsh corgi’s eyes, and see undying adoration. My long life has been happily filled to abundance with dogs, and every one has reflected a love and loyalty that many humans can only hope to possess.

But what specific thing can humans do, that no higher mammal will ever manage? Made in the image of a Creative God, we can create. Whereas God created Heaven and earth out of nothing, we must have materials at hand with which to create. But we do create.

As far as I know, dolphins have never composed operas or symphonies. Clever and entertaining as they are, primates do not paint masterpieces or design bridges. My brilliant Pembroke Welsh corgi has yet to bake a cake or stir up an omelette.

Note One: I posted this entry a couple of weeks ago, on my “God’s Word Is True” blog ( http://hiswordistrue.wordpress.com/ ), and decided to post it here as well for two reasons:

1) Some Northern Reflections’ readers don’t know the the “God’s Word . . . .” blog even exists and so this entry would be new to those readers;

2) The weather has been so gorgeous that I’ve only been indoors to get meals and change loads of laundry these days. The gardens and patio have captured my heart. But I did want to update Northern Reflections, since Mother’s Day is a week behind us. Anyway, every day is Mother’s Day for moms! 🙂

Note Two: Here are some photos taken this week around (and in) our condo home in Nashotah:

(Our foxgloves are reminiscent of Beatrix Potter’s Jemima Puddleduck (silly creature!) and the “Foxy Gentleman” who was sneakily seated amongst the foxgloves.) ↑

(Who can resist sticking a derelict chair in a garden? ↑ ↓)

And last but not least—along with reading and gardening—I’m knitting more of those world famous Potato Chip Scarves! ↓ This photo has been posted at the risk of non-knitters hurling rotten tomatoes and cabbages my way.

Yes, I know you may be weary of the potato chip scarves! Good thing I’m hiding behind my computer! 🙂